My Bratty Wife
Chapter 254 - Two Hundred And Fifty Four

Chapter 254: Chapter Two Hundred And Fifty Four

Bang!

Bang!!

The two gunshots, fired almost simultaneously, ripped through the dead air of the ruined chapel, their roar a deafening, final declaration. For a heart-stopping second, the world seemed to freeze.

"Your Grace!" Davis’s terrified shout broke the aftermath silence. He sprinted forward from his position, his pistol forgotten, his face a mask of pure dread.

Ryan stood, unmoving, his own pistol still extended, smoke curling from its barrel. He was shocked, his mind a numb void, his ears ringing. He looked down at himself, a part of him expecting to see a blossoming red stain on his own chest, but there was nothing. He was alive. He was unharmed.

Then, his gaze snapped to his brother.

Byron was on the floor. He had crumpled to the stone, a dark, rapidly spreading patch on his chest marking where Ryan’s bullet had found its home. A trickle of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth, crimson against his pale skin.

The reality of it, the horrifying, irreversible finality, crashed down on Ryan. "Byron!" The name was a strangled cry, torn from his soul. He dropped his pistol, the clatter of it on the stones unnoticed, and scrambled to his brother’s side. He knelt in the dust and grime, gathering Byron’s upper body into his arms, cradling his head. "Byron, what did you do?" he pleaded, his voice breaking, tears blurring his vision. "You fool, what have you done?"

Byron coughed, a wet, rattling sound, and a weak, bloody smile curved his lips. "I told you, brother," he rasped, his voice a faint whisper, "I wouldn’t be paraded. I... I would rather die than live as a disgraced... criminal." His breath hitched, his body trembling with the shock of the wound.

Ryan, his mind refusing to accept the truth, picked up Byron’s pistol from where it had fallen beside him. His fingers felt numb as he checked the mechanism, his heart sinking with a terrible, dawning understanding. It was empty. There were no bullets left. Byron had fired all his shots before their final confrontation. The last time he had aimed at Ryan, it had been a bluff. A terrible, tragic, successful bluff to force Ryan’s hand.

"You fool!" Ryan shouted, his voice cracking with anguish as he tossed the useless pistol aside. He held Byron tighter, as if he could somehow push the life back into him. "You absolute fool! Your gun was empty! You made me... I..." He couldn’t finish the sentence, a sob choking him.

Byron’s gaze seemed to clear for a moment, a flicker of his old, sharp intelligence returning. "I knew you wouldn’t shoot... without being threatened," he whispered, each word a monumental effort. "I know you, Ryan. Your honor... your damned, noble heart... it wouldn’t allow it, you would rather preferred I go to prison to reflect on myself." He coughed again, a spasm of pain wracking his body. "It doesn’t matter now. I have... finished my revenge. It is done. Now... now I can go and be with my two mothers."

Tears streamed openly down Ryan’s face, dripping onto his brother’s pale cheek. "Byron..." was all he could manage, his brother’s name slipped out his sobbing lips.

A flicker of the old bitterness, the old rivalry, ignited in Byron’s fading eyes. "I still hate you, though," he breathed, a strange confession in these final moments. "I do. You stood in my way, so many times. Always the favored son, the true heir. Everything came so easily to you." He paused, gathering a final ounce of strength. "Do you know why I tried so hard to bring you and Cassandra together? Why I tried to play matchmaker, to push you towards each other?"

Ryan, utterly bewildered by this last, unexpected twist, could only shake his head, cradling his dying brother.

"Because I wanted her to be your weakness," Byron admitted, a ghost of his manipulative genius in his weak voice. "Just as my mother was my father’s undoing, I wanted Cassandra to be yours. I wanted love to curb you, to distract you from your relentless digging into the past, to keep you from going through with your investigation." A faint, ironic smile touched his lips again. "But... it backfired. You fell in love, yes, but it made you stronger, more determined to protect her. And when she started remembering things... that fall at the well... I knew I just had to stop playing matchmaker and move to a more... direct solution. That’s the last thing I want to reveal to you."

He looked past Ryan then, his gaze unfocused, directed at the crumbling, open roof of the chapel. A single drop of water landed on his eyelid. He blinked, slowly. "It’s raining," he whispered, a note of simple, childlike wonder in his voice.

As he spoke, another drop fell, then another. A soft patter began on the remaining sections of the chapel roof, a gentle sound that grew steadily stronger. The sky, which had been clear moments before, had opened up, releasing a heavy, sorrowful downpour. The rain fell through the gaping holes in the roof, streaking the grimy walls, washing over the bloodied stones, and mingling with the tears on Ryan’s face.

Those were Byron’s last words. His body went limp in Ryan’s arms, his head lolling to the side, his eyes, which had burned with so much rage and sorrow, now vacant, staring into nothing. The faint, bloody smile remained on his lips, a final, dark expression.

Ryan didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to react. He just knelt there in the mud and the blood, in the heart of the ruined chapel, clutching the body of his brother as the rain fell harder and harder, a cold, cleansing downpour from a grieving sky.

The sounds of the downpour, the concern in Davis’s voice somewhere behind him, the presence of his guards – none of it registered. He was mute, frozen in a bubble of profound, silent grief as the rain fell on him.